


Rise of the Sith'ari

by Warlock of Glasya (CuChulainnX19)



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, F/F, F/M, Harems, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jedi, Mind Control, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sith Empire, The Dark Side of the Force (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26826061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuChulainnX19/pseuds/Warlock%20of%20Glasya
Summary: Born a slave, Khavros Zaal'Khyrron was taken as a teenager to be trained in the Dark Side... but he never forgot his origins, or who and what was responsible for his suffering. Armed with his hatred of the Sith and an unorthodox view of the Force, he will win a galaxy free of the Empire, or bring it down with him.Or, what if the LS Inquisitor didn't have to be an apologist for the people who enslaved him, and also wasn't entirely light-side. Because face it, mind-fucking Jedi is hot.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Rise of the Sith'ari

**Author's Note:**

> The concept for this story originated with some non-SW fanart, my disappointment with the limitations of the LS Sith storylines, and the first two chapters of PhantomFox's "In the Hands of the Sith," before finally gaining concrete form after I received positive feedback on my absurd one-shot "A Dance of Light and Shadow" (set near the end of this story).
> 
> While this fic will remain a second- or third-tier project (behind Ktober, Five Wardens, and real life), I do have a coherent outline that will bring this story, through all manner of sexy shenanigans, all the way up to the realization of Khavros' ultimate goals, and potentially set the stage for a sequel, or at least a few fun one-shots.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Near the end of his training, Khavros Zaal'Khyrron is sent to secure an ancient holocron... and a Jedi target of opportunity.

Khavros Zaal’Khyrron stalked down the ramp of the _Fury_ -class _Shadow of Intent_ , his robes billowing dramatically behind him. The sith-human hybrid wore a mask inspired by the legendary Darth Revan, whose conquests against the Republic had earned him fame and admiration even in the true Sith Empire that had lurked unseen in the galactic background while Revan himself rose and fell. 

It was not for Revan’s deeds as a Sith Lord that Khavros respected him, however, but for his ultimate rejection of the Sith Code and rumored dedication to a Third Way. It was said that Revan himself had in fact survived the Jedi assault on his flagship, toppled his own empire, and ultimately led a secret mission to the heart of the Sith Empire itself, imprisoning the Emperor and delaying his plans to invade the Republic by hundreds of years. Whether any of those stories were true or not, Revan enjoyed enough respect among the Sith that his mask and flowing armored robes were an accepted aesthetic for an aspiring Sith Lord, not to mention more practical than the oversized shoulder pauldrons currently in vogue. 

Nar Shaddaa was a hellhole, despite the charitable efforts of his cult, and he had little interest in visiting most of the moon, but Lord Zash had informed him that this sector held two objects of particular interest: a holocron she desired for her research, and the padawan of the Jedi guarding it, Mhaelara Ullidaris, a Mirialan with a unique empathic gift that some believed to be the root of Darth Vorgis’ stunning fall from power—as well as skills with a lightsaber that had been documented by Imperial security holocams as being responsible for the fall of his last apprentice. 

For himself, Khavros hoped that the Jedi would be open to reason, or else oblivious, but a lifetime in the Sith Empire, as slave and acolyte and apprentice, had drilled into him a bone-deep expectation that any option that would allow violence or cruelty to be avoided was only an illusion.

Out of some pessimistic blend of optimism and caution, therefore, he had left his companions on the _Shadow_ : Andromeda Revel, a former pirate captain turned enthusiastic follower; and Yasmin Skirata, a Mandalorian who’d proven as adept at piloting and combat as she was at having her wits fucked out of her. If the Jedi caught him alone, appearing to pose less of a threat, they might be more inclined to listen… or, though perhaps even less likely, they might be able to capture him, which would scuttle his plans for revenge but at least leave two more Jedi in the fight.

Thus preoccupied, he made his way into the depths of the Smugglers’ Moon, the Dark Side swirling around him as he sought the long-lost holocron through the Force. _There is no peace without passion; there is no passion without peace_ , he recited to himself, sublimating his frustration into power: anger at Nar Shaddaa, at his weak position within the Empire, at the Empire itself and its endless abuses, and at the Force-blind indoctrinated morons who actually thought the Empire was worth fighting for.

 _In peace, wisdom; in passion, strength_ . The very Code of the Sith was nothing but juvenile revanchism, a frustrated scream by moral infants who had struck out blindly and without cause against the Jedi time and again and always, always failed—yet never died, and more threatening now than ever. _From strength and wisdom, victory. In victory, my chains are broken: the Force shall set me free_. Fortunately, preserving the fate of the galaxy aligned nicely with Khavros’ personal quest: He would see the Sith and their Empire in flames.

“So, Sith, you’ve found me at last. But you’re too late,” a baritone voice, rich with condescension and disgust, echoed, and Khavros realized he had arrived already at the hidden sanctum. Jedi Master Nalen Carr stood above him, at the edge of a platform bounded by stairs to the left and right; as his holo had shown, he was a bearded, middle-aged human with a look of severity to him: it would seem that bringing down his personal nemesis in Darth Vorgis had little calmed his fury. 

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not really looking for you,” Khavros replied nonchalantly. Sympathizing with the Republic’s heroes didn’t mean he thought they were faultless, though he could not help imagining at least the leaders of the Order—Satele Shan, Syo Bakarn, the late Ven Zallow—as true paragons in pure opposition to the Empire’s dark lords. The more ordinary ones, though… a part of him had always been obnoxiously sarcastic, and as a Sith he could at least be an asshole more freely than he could as a slave.

“Technically,” he added with a shrug, “I’ve been ordered to kidnap your padawan, but honestly I’d rather not. My master wants the holocron you’re guarding, and I’m fairly certain whatever she intends with it is meant to kill me… so I’d like to borrow it first, figure out what she’s planning, kill her and take her place, and then, oh yes, _burn the Empire to fucking space dust_.” 

Khavros thought that speech had been fairly compelling, but apparently Nalen Carr disagreed. His glare became palpably more judgemental, and he replied coldly, “That’s a pretty story, Sith, but I don’t buy it. Your kind are selfish and deceitful—I’m sure you want to kill your master, but the Dark Side is strong in you. You are no more a secret defector than I am a count of Serenno… and I will _never_ hand over material intelligence to the Sith.”

“‘Your kind’?” Khavros raised a spiked eyebrow at the Jedi. “ _That’s_ racist. Besides, I was a slave. My Force-sensitivity was only discovered when I was sixteen standard years of age—before that I lived in a mining camp, surrounded by the pointless pain and misery on which the Empire is founded. _That_ is why I hate the Empire, that and the fact that the Sith are a cabal of fearful hypocrites, hiding in the dark from their own perpetual failures… and I _will_ see them destroyed.”

“And how much harm would you ask me to let you do to the Republic, first?” Carr asked, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve given you my answer, Sith. Leave, or it will be you who is destroyed, here and now.”

“If I leave, my _master_ will destroy me,” Khavros glared back at the Jedi, subconsciously reaching out for the dark tendrils in the other man’s heart as his blood prepared for battle. “Defeat me if you can, but I will not give up my mission. _The Empire will burn!_ ”

Carr’s emerald lightsaber flared to life as Khavros shouted, and the Jedi Master leapt into the air to descend on him from above. Khavros dove back and out of the way to gain space to ignite his own violet saberstaff. “Shavit, Jedi, I don’t want to fight!” He blocked one strike and gave ground, maneuvering into a more defensible position. “Look, it’s not just the holocron—my master wants your padawan as well. I need the holocron, no matter what, but if you would just stand down and _then_ chase me off—”

But Carr only redoubled his assault, his strikes growing heavier as Khavros felt him beginning to draw more heavily on the dark side. “You can’t beat me! I won’t let you take her!”

“I don’t want to take her!” Khavros yelled back, twisting Carr’s saber out of the way to land a hard kick to his chest. “But as much as you’re older than I am, I’m better than you, and you know it. You’re on the cusp of the dark side, Jedi, and if you don’t pull yourself back then coming with me will be the _safest_ thing Mhaelara can do!” He fell back as he argued, recognizing elements of Carr’s fighting style from his lessons on Jedi combat as an acolyte: the broad strokes of Ataru, mixed with Soresu-style subtleties and the physical, staccato aggression of Djem So and Juyo. But there was something else, as well, in the relentless effort to dominate the Sith apprentice’s physical space and ability to react, to press ground constantly… and Khavros recognized that, too.

Nalen Carr was fighting like a Sith lord. Against another opponent, one accustomed to fighting Jedi who sought serenity even in the midst of battle, the touch of the dark side in Carr’s technique might have been distracting, even overpowering, but Khavros had only ever fought fellow Sith: first as an acolyte competing for apprenticeship, and then as an apprentice wielded against his master’s rivals. The only surprise was in how close the Jedi Master stood to that which he vowed to destroy.

Khavros put the comparison from his mind as he deflected another whirlwind of strikes, ceding ground against Carr’s onslaught. He managed to turn the fight, and retreat up the stairs to the landing Carr had greeted him from; the Jedi was no more powerful than a Sith of comparable status, but he was more balanced, and it was all Khavros could do to defend himself as he looked constantly for an opening.

 _“You can’t beat me,”_ Carr growled again as their blades locked, “and even if you could, it wouldn’t restore what Vorgis built. Your master’s domain is ash: my apprentice saw to that, and you will not have her!”

“My master is not Darth Vorgis,” Khavros replied, shoving the older man off-balance. “I am apprenticed to Lord Zash, of the Pyramid of Ancient Knowledge. Your being here was merely coincidence, as I told you already!”

Carr’s eyes widened, then narrowed in angry refusal. He moved again to attack, but this time Khavros saw the strike as he prepared it, recognized the movement, and by instinct trained over half a decade burning to annihilate the Sith, he knocked the Jedi master’s blade aside and buried the opposite end of his saberstaff in his chest. His own gasp of shock mirrored Carr’s, and he deactivated his lightsaber to allow the fatally wounded Jedi to collapse into his arms.

“Master—!” A young, feminine voice cried from the door to the sanctum interior. Mhaelara Ullidaris, the Sith Empire’s most wanted Jedi save perhaps Grand Master Shan, stood in the open doorway with a look of horror on her well-formed face. She was dressed lightly for her species, despite wearing the traditional tattoos, pairing practical pants and boots with a tunic that showed her arms and cleavage to advantage. Having her at his mercy, Khavros reflected suddenly, might not be so unbearable after all: he merely needed to ensure that, no matter what other Sith might desire, she remained at his mercy and his alone.

For the moment, though, the infamous empath was focused entirely on her dying master, and the threat standing over him. “What have you done to him?”

“Jae—Mhaelara,” Carr gasped, before Khavros could respond. “You should not have come.”

“Your master is right,” Khavros intoned, rising from the wounded Jedi’s side to look darkly at the newcomer. “I have two tasks here. I had hoped to have an excuse to forgo the second, but your master’s stubbornness and your own presence here give me no choice but to arrest you.” 

“Arrest me? No!” Mhaelara cried, brandishing her lightsaber. The blade was a brilliant blue, like the midday sky on some uncontaminated garden world, a glowing manifestation of innocent idealism forged into a deadly weapon. It was offensive and beautiful all at once, and Khavros determined again to master its wielder. “I won’t let you take me, Sith! I will never be a prisoner of the dark side!”

“Is that so?” The Sith apprentice seized her by the neck with the Force, dangling her half a meter in the air as he restricted her windpipe. Were she Sith, he would likely have snapped her neck instantly, or were there another Sith at hand who stood to take her captive in his stead. But as things were, the padawan—nearly a knight, he was certain, but not yet actually promoted—could prove useful, and there was no need, for her sake or his own, to end her life in this miserable pit.

He released her, and the Jedi fell to her knees, gasping for breath. “Your master forced this fight,” he informed her, seizing her by her hair to make her meet his gaze. “Together, perhaps you could have bested me, but alone, you are already mine. I will not turn you, I will not kill you, and I will not surrender you to the Sith, but for the sake of the Empire’s end… from this moment on, you belong to me. Understood, Jedi?”

Mhaelara looked up at him balefully for a moment more, then dropped her gaze and nodded as well as she could. “Yes… my master.”

“Good girl.” Khavros patted her cheek and turned to Naren Carr. “Are you trained in healing, apprentice?”

“Only—only a little,” the Jedi shook her head. 

“That is more than I possess,” Khavros replied, gesturing to her fallen master. “Do what you can for him. Your bridges could be more than useful in the future… as could the survival of the greatest spymaster in the Jedi Order. Is there kolto in the sanctum?”

“Of course,” Mhaelara nodded and gave him directions. The Jedi Master was nearly beyond the help of kolto by the time Khavros returned, but Mhaelara had kept him alive and gotten him into a healing trance, and together they set up an impromptu kolto bath in the small hideout’s ‘fresher. Then, finally, it was time for Khavros to claim what he had come for.

Mhaelara met him in the outer room of the sanctuary, kneeling almost where Khavros had been standing when Carr made his introductions. It was, Khavros thought again, a good look for her, although he could only imagine how much better the view would be once she shed her clothes. He took her lightsaber and cuffed her hands behind her back, before producing the collar Lord Zane had procured for him.

“This is a Force-suppressing collar,” he told his captive Jedi, holding up the band of treated leather. The alchemical process it had been subjected to did not sever the wearer from the Force, but suppressed their awareness of it, leaving them as powerless and yet readable as any natural Force-blind. And this collar had been crafted with one additional purpose in mind: to bind the will of the wearer as well as their body, and make it near-impossible for even the most disciplined to resist their captor… which would, of course, serve to shatter the resistance of such a strong-willed prisoner even more thoroughly than the rest. “The lords of the Sith,” he concluded with a grim smile, “want you turned or broken—or both—no matter the expense.”

“And yet you planned to flee from here without me?” Mhaelara asked wryly, still eying the collar with understandable apprehension.

“Not empty-handed,” Khavros pointed out, shrugging, “And I am only an apprentice. Capturing you, however, may have been for the best in the end, especially if your Master Carr understands what that kolto bath he’s going to wake up in means.”

“True enough… my lord,” Mhaelara accepted, nodding. “Although, if I may ask… how do you plan on persuading them that you’ve broken me?”

“Persuading them?” Khavros shrugged. “I’ll shortly be presenting you bound and collared to my master, via holo, at which point I’m all but certain she’ll either make arrangements to grant me lordship, or else simply move to kill me, at which point I’ll kill her back and claim her assets. From there, it will simply be a matter of keeping your head down and calling me ‘Master’… although,” he added pensively, “If you’re worried about your acting skills, I could always give you a demonstration.”

“A… demonstration, Master?”

Instead of replying, Khavros fastened the collar around her neck and affixed a leash to the front clasp, pulling her to her feet with the aid of the Force. Mhaelara gasped as she felt his will crash down around her; were she standing, she would have been driven to her knees. But his presence was not the smothering darkness she had half-expected despite what her senses had told her before: he was angry, yes, bitter and hungry and defensively selfish, but every ounce of his hatred was directed at the Sith themselves, the masters of cruelty who drove the Force-blind into slavery and forced their apprentices to torture and kill one another to survive. And as for herself…. 

Her throat closed up, responding without her conscious decision to her Master’s desire for her to remain silent, but an equally unbidden grunt still escaped as he pulled her to her feet—although, as it passed her lips, it was less a sound of effort than a quiet half-moan. 

“Good girl,” Khavros rumbled in her ear, accompanying the comment with a hard slap to her rear. Mhaelara moaned again, and Khavros pinched her throat with the Force to silence her. If she didn’t break entirely before they reached his ship, she reflected with the small part of her mind that was still up for reflection, she would probably beg him to fuck her… and once that happened, either he would oblige, and she would surrender completely, or he would keep her restrained and denied until her own desires eroded the rest of her personality and she became a mindless, obedient thrall.

She keened in unexpected arousal at the thought, leaning into Khavros as her Master threw an arm around her and reached down to caress her breast. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured again, “That’s a good, obedient Jedi bitch. Don’t worry,” he added, spanking her again as he stepped back and took up her leash, “I won’t make you marinate your mind for _too_ long, or you wouldn’t be much use in bringing down the Empire. Now come on, I need to present you to my master, and you aren’t _nearly_ fucked out of your head enough to play the part of my shiny new torture doll.” 

He said the last words with the same bile he reserved for every thought and comment he made about the Sith and their expectations, and as the last of Mhaelara’s conscious resistance to the collar’s influence dissolved, she wondered distantly how long it would take before fucking her mind away started to include actual mind-shattering fucking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khavros is, basically, an alternate version of Kallig, the Sith Inquisitor. The Male Sith Warrior was captured/killed on Balmorra, resulting in his master's disgrace an Empire-wide infamy for the Jedi apprentice thought to be ultimately responsible; meanwhile, despite occurring on Nar Shaddaa, this chapter is supposed to occupy roughly the same space in the Inquisitor's storyline as Alderaan... not that the timeline is going to mirror canon with quite that degree of precision.


End file.
